"What in Heaven's name do you mean by that?"
"I mean what I say," said Mary staunchly, though she turned a still deeper red. "Oh, you might just as well be angry with yourself for being so blind and stupid."
"Do you mean to tell me you were aware of something?" Mahony stopped short in his perambulations and fixed her, open-mouthed.
"I couldn't help it.—Not that there was much to know, Richard. And I thought of coming to you about it—indeed I did. I tried to, more than once. But you were always so busy; I hadn't the heart to worry you. For I knew very well how upset you would be."
"So it comes to this, does it?" said Mahony with biting emphasis. "My wife consents to another man paying her illicit attentions behind her husband's back!"
"Oh, no, no, no! But I knew how fond you were of Purdy. And I always hoped it would blow over without ... without coming to anything."
"God forgive me!" cried Mahony passionately. "It takes a woman's brain to house such a preposterous idea."
"Oh, I'm not quite the fool you make me out to be, Richard. I've got some sense in me. But it's always the same. I think of you, and you think of no one but yourself. I only wanted to spare you. And this is the thanks I get for it." And sitting down on the side of the bed she wept bitterly.
"Will you assure me, madam, that till to-night nothing I could have objected to has ever passed between you?"
"No, Richard, I won't! I won't tell you anything else. You get so angry you don't know what you're saying. And if you can't trust me better than that—Purdy said to-night you didn't understand me... and never had."